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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212590">I don't wanna go home yet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy'>queermccoy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Disrespecting Historical Sites, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Kissing, M/M, Road Trips, Spit Kink, True Crime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/queermccoy/pseuds/queermccoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s letting himself be into things again, letting himself have hobbies. It’s new for him, the resolution to enjoy things is only about a week old. He’s already rediscovered comic books, candy, and looking at cute boys. He has discovered that he loves leaving his wife. That’s been an expensive hobby, but well worth it. His lawyers say it may take months and months, maybe years, but Eddie doesn’t care. It’s his new favorite thing.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>High up on the list too, is this road trip with Mike.</i>
</p><p>or, Eddie goes with Mike on his post-Derry road trip.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Quarantine It Fic Fest</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I don't wanna go home yet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fest Prompt: Eddie decides to join Mike on his soul-searching post chap2 because honestly, he needs it too. Eddie is ridiculously picky about the hotels they stay at along the drive, but Mike just thinks it’s endearing. Love blooms?</p><p>Title from First Love/Late Spring by Mitski</p><p>I have never been to the Lizzie Borden House myself, so I'm not totally clear on the check in process or anything. The point of this was really just Eddie embracing his freak flag and Mike Getting Some, so I wasn't too invested in the details. Shout out to the lovely humans in the Wet Eddie Rights gc and everyone who ships Eddie and Mike. We are extremely valid. </p><p><b>Content Warnings:</b> mentions of Stan's canonical suicide, mentions of murder, of missing persons, Mike calls Eddie a slut but in a matter-of-fact way and not in a shaming way, know-it-alls, getting off on being weird at the Lizzie Borden House, like I'm serious they're getting off on fucking in a weird location, and technically adultery.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s overcast when they roll up to the Lizzie Borden House, Eddie pulling into the parking lot behind the building and Mike shuffling the loose pages of their travel plans into a pile. He slides them into the black, hardcover notebook he carries with him everywhere before wrapping it in an elastic band. Eddie hates it, thinks it’s impractical, and made a point of mapping their itinerary out in his phone’s apps as well before they left Derry. </p><p>Mike had smiled at him while he did it, sitting at one of the tables in the library under his apartment with all the pages spread out. Some of his notes were over 25 years old. Eddie’s heart beat hard in his chest and he scowled the whole time, which only made Mike smile wider. He pointed to things and verbally annotated his book for Eddie to add to his own notes. </p><p>“I was hoping to keep this loose,” Mike had said. “Go where the wind takes us.” Eddie looked at him incredulously and flat out refused. The smirk Mike shot his way told Eddie that he’d been got, but wanted at least an outline for their trip, for Mike’s first time out of state. He wanted it to be good for him. </p><p>The building where Andrew and Abby Borden were murdered is well maintained, green with darker shutters, and looks old. Eddie doesn’t know how to describe how he feels when he looks at it other than, it’s<i> old, historic, </i> and <i>old</i>. He isn’t an architect like Ben or basically a historian like Mike. He’s just a guy who likes weird shit and the house, when he’s looking at it through the windshield, looks overwhelmingly normal in a way that tickles the skin on the back of his hands. He’s into it. </p><p>He’s letting himself be into things again, letting himself have hobbies. It’s new for him, the resolution to enjoy things is only about a week old. He’s already rediscovered comic books, candy, and looking at cute boys. He has discovered that he loves leaving his wife. That’s been an expensive hobby, but well worth it. His lawyers say it may take months and months, maybe years, but Eddie doesn’t care. It’s his new favorite thing. </p><p>High up on the list too, is this road trip with Mike. </p><p>Richie had offered to host him in L.A. while he leaves his wife, but Mike had also offered the passenger’s seat in his truck and bad motel rooms and a little adventure, and Eddie couldn’t possibly turn that down. He looked at Mike, his truck, his single duffle bag, and felt for all the world like even though he got out of Derry, out of that town, he never did anything with it. Eddie saw an opportunity, and he took it. </p><p>A week after they bullied Pennywise to death and almost died trying to crawl out of the house on Neibolt Street, he drove Mike’s truck to the airport in Bangor, with Mike grumbling in the passenger’s seat, to see the other Losers off. Ben and Bev flew to Nebraska, Bill to London, and Richie back West to L.A. They helped the Losers with their luggage and watched them leave, tearful hugs and hard back slaps all around. Mike kissed all of their faces, even Richie’s, who looked like he might pitch a fit about it. </p><p>Eddie grinned and waved from the seating area when each of them left, sadness growing in the pit of his stomach and growing out into his limbs, until it was just him and Mike and the cashier behind the counter at the duty free shop. He and Mike walked back out into the parking lot together, Mike’s hand on his shoulder like an anchor. It was huge and warm and Eddie allowed himself to appreciate the buzz rippling up his spine at the contact. He was into it. He let himself be into it. </p><p>On the way through Maine, down the interstate, he let Mike drive his own truck. He wanted to be the one to take himself across state lines, and he was. Mike did it, and when he drove over the bridge into New Hampshire, he started crying, shoulders quaking and gasping for breath. Eddie panicked. He shouted at Mike to pull over, and then patted his back while the tears rolled down his cheeks and over his fingers. </p><p>“Sorry,” Mike had said, his throat working desperately to get the words out. </p><p>Eddie shushed him, tone harsher than he meant it to be, and told him, “Dude, no. Cry in this McDonald’s parking lot. Cry all you want, you earned it. You earned it and you can cry every day for the rest of your life if you want. Dude!” </p><p>He wasn’t trying to be funny, but Mike had laughed. His face was wet and his laughter was wet and Eddie wished that he was better with emotions or that he was a person capable of tenderness. Instead, he laughed with Mike and then dug around in his glove box for something he could wipe his face with that wasn’t the gross bandanna Eddie knew was hiding in his shoulder bag. He found a crumpled Tim Horton’s napkin and handed it to Mike. </p><p>“God,” Mike said, voice shaking. He rubbed his face with the napkin. “I hope not.”</p><p>Eddie hoped so to. Mike deserved happiness, he deserves happiness. </p><p>They switched places, because Mike didn’t trust himself to stay dry eyed and Eddie didn’t trust anyone else to drive. Mike pulled out his list, the list of places Mike had always wanted to see, and his phone. He pulled up Google Maps and directed Eddie where to drive, when to turn and when to stop. This is what brings them to the Lizzie Borden House. This is what will bring them to Milwaukee, to Boulder, to New York, to L.A., to Northern California, and to Atlanta. </p><p>Mike is a true crime buff, apparently, and just Eddie’s luck, because he is too. They are going to visit some hot spots, traveling the country on not just Eddie’s dime, but Richie’s and Ben’s and Bill’s as well. Bev is busy with her own divorce, one that will be more trouble and cost more money than Eddie’s. He winces whenever she talks about it.</p><p>They’ve been listening to podcasts together, on their drive, bluetoothed into the portable speaker Mike has attached to his dashboard, connected by a USB cord to a charger in the slot that used to hold an electric lighter. Mike would pause the audio to talk about the story, things he knew that the host hadn’t included or something they might have gotten wrong. He pauses so Eddie can describe the way a body would have looked in decomposition, or to link a medical fact to a study he read or an article he found that supports or contradicts what the host is saying. </p><p>They do this on their way through Haverhill, New Hampshire, a town they went hours out of their way to visit. Eddie slows the truck down to a crawl when they pass the curve of Route 112 where Maura Murray crashed her car and disappeared. </p><p>“I wanted to help with the search, but I was afraid to leave Derry for that long.” Mike says this with deep regret, shoulders slumped. Eddie read the stories voraciously and it bothered his girlfriend at the time so much that she broke up with him. Years of subpar sex was fine, but one teeny true crime obsession was too much. He read every article and watched the news religiously for updates, going so far as to request scans of the local news papers at the New York Public Library branch closest to his apartment. He never once considered going to help look for the woman. </p><p>Mike, Eddie thought, is the best of them all. </p><p>“I always assumed she was dead before they started looking,” Eddie shrugged. “The boyfriend did it, probably.” </p><p>He tapped on the steering wheel and looked over at Mike, who was shaking his head. Mike replies, “No, I think she ran away. She has a new identity, and she’s living her life. I hope she’s safe.” </p><p>Eddie blinked and made a noise of disagreement in the back of his throat. “She’s out there somewhere,” he said, pointing to the woods around them, the vast verdant fields and forests of New England. He glances back at Mike and he’s shaking his head again. </p><p>He wondered how someone could be so optimistic when they’ve had nothing but bad luck, been dealt nothing but bad hands. Eddie wanted to give Mike the world, in that moment. He wants to give him everything at this moment too. </p><p>They stayed in a three-star hotel a few towns over. Eddie spent several minutes checking the mattress for bedbugs and another several more checking his sheets for scabies. He checked Mike’s bed too, while he was in the shower. </p><p>In the middle of the night, Eddie rolled over in bed and looked across the room at Mike in his. He was on his phone, scrolling with his brightness turned way down. His reading glass were perched on the end of his nose. Eddie watched him for a few minutes, staring and not blinking. Mike was handsome in the glow of his phone. Mike is always handsome, but something about the look of him in that hotel room in backwoods New Hampshire hit Eddie in the face. </p><p>When he slept, he dreamt about the day he met Mike when they were kids, young kids, practically babies, only his dad was there and Pennywise too. His wife sat in the back of the church in her wedding dress, and then Pennywise was in the dress too.</p><p>He woke up feeling hungover and empty. When he looked over at Mike, still asleep with his phone on his chest, he felt better. Not well, with the overcast sky and the way every time he blinked he could see Pennywise, huge and spidery in his wife’s wedding dress, but not terrible either. </p><p>They were on the road after Eddie showered and they got coffee at a Dunkin’ Donuts down the street. It was podcasts and easy conversation all the way through New Hampshire and into Massachusetts. Occasionally, Mike would read him texts from the Losers and they would respond together. It was easy and nice and Eddie felt his tense shoulders relax. His hackles raise when they started driving through towns and not just cruising down the interstate. Driving through Massachusetts is one Eddie’s greatest pleasures in life and is also one of the worst things he’s ever had to do on multiple occasions. It took his full concentration, and when they do pull into the parking lot, he is ready to exhale. </p><p>“Well, we’re here,” Eddie says uselessly when they park. He turns off the engine of Mike’s truck, the one that used to be his grandfather’s, and folds his hands in his lap. He looks over at Mike and he’s smiling brightly at the building and glancing back at Eddie, excited. </p><p>He’s zipping his notebook into his bag when he replies, “I’m so glad we’re doing this!” </p><p>“Me too.” Eddie looks away from Mike and back down at his hands. He picks at one of his thumbnails with the other. He has always wanted to visit his place, ever since he was a kid and Stan told them the rhyme at recess, his inflection tight when he’d said, “<i>Lizzie Borden took an ax, she gave her mother 40 whacks,</i>” before interrupting himself to correct the number of blows the woman had actually suffered. </p><p>Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath when he thinks about Stan. Abby Borden had suffered considerably fewer than 40 axe wounds, but more than was necessary for her death. Stan had cut so deep, he chipped his bones. Overkill. </p><p>“Hey,” Mike says. Eddie looks over, and Mike’s smile is gone. His eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is down turned. He reaches one of his large hands up to clasp it over Eddie’s shoulder, thumb resting on the skin of his neck. “Are you alright?” </p><p>Clearing his throat, Eddie lifts his own hands to rest them on the bottom of the steering wheel. “I’m fine,” he tells Mike, because he is. He is fine. He’s irritated that he is fine but doesn’t feel fine, but he’s fine.</p><p>“Let’s go inside,” he suggests, frowning at himself. He yanks the keys out of the ignition and pulls away from Mike’s hand. It falls from his shoulder. Mike is slow to bring it back to his side of the cab and Eddie’s neck burns. </p><p>Eddie brings only one of his suitcases in with them, since they are only staying for one night. He walks from the parking lot to the door lopsidedly, teetering behind Mike and seething at the way his shoulders look carrying his own duffle bag. The way the silver chain from his readers glints against the back of his neck, despite the clouds blocking the sun. He’s fine. </p><p>Mike is tall, extremely tall, and so broad. Richie is too, and so is Ben, but Mike makes them look like average sized men. He makes Eddie feel like something packed into a too-small tupperware container, like he’s bigger than his body will let him be. He has to reach up to tap on Mike’s shoulder, which he does to point out the sign hanging off the side of the house so Mike won’t smack his head against it. Instead of stopping, like Eddie hopes, Mike turns to ask him what he wants and ends up hitting it anyway, head just grazing the bottom edge. </p><p>“Ow!” He squints and rubs at his temple with long fingers. </p><p>“Oh!” Eddie exclaims. “Sorry!” </p><p>“It’s okay,” Mike says. It sounds like he means it. The strangest feeling wells up in Eddie’s chest, like water gurgling out of a broken water fountain spigot. He wants to pull Mike down and kiss his head, where he smacked it. He blinks and lets it pass, the wet feeling replaced with the tight one that’s lived there for years.</p><p>Inside, the floor is covered in a dark, floral carpet. The walls are ornate with dark wood accents and clashing floral wallpaper. It’s beautiful in an ugly way, and Eddie is immediately on edge when he sees how big Mike is in this home built before people came in Mike’s size, glass cases pressing on them from all sides. </p><p>“Can I help you, gentleman?” An employee asks from behind the counter at the gift shop. Eddie sees Mike turn his thousand watt smile on her and notices her flush in response. He understands where she’s coming from, Mike is as bright as the sun and twice as pretty. </p><p>Conversely, Eddie feels like a thundercloud, but before the rain falls and the air is humid and dense and it’s hard to breath. He frowns at her and says, moving in front of Mike, “We have a reservation under Kaspbrak.” </p><p>“For the Morse Room,” Mike adds helpfully, leaning around Eddie to smile some more. </p><p>“Of course! Let’s get you signed in, Messrs. Kaspbrak,” the employee says, looking away from them and wiggling the mouse on her computer. Eddie blanches, and glances at Mike out of the corner of his eye. He has his eyebrows up in his hairline and his mouth pursed in surprise. Eddie glances away, back to the employee. </p><p>Well, he is technically married, even if it isn’t to Mike. She’s not totally wrong. He doesn’t correct her and after a moment, neither does Mike. </p><p>Eddie is short for the rest of the interaction, but hands over his card when he’s asked and takes their room key when she gives it to them. There’s a tour in a couple of hours, and a map of the town if they need it later, she tells them. Mike thanks her, and nudges Eddie until he does too. They climb up the stairs, Mike leading the way, and turn onto the landing when they reach the second floor. </p><p>The Morse Room is strange. The air in the room is strange. Eddie knows it’s because he knows Abby Borden was murdered here, and if he didn’t know that it probably wouldn’t feel this way. He takes a deep breath and moves inside, through the doorway, to stand with Mike. Eddie shivers, suitcase dropping from his hands to the carpeted floor, which is also in a floral print. </p><p>Myra would love it here, Eddie thinks. Well, she wouldn’t, actually, because Myra hated murder and history and fun. But she would have liked the carpets, anyway. </p><p>“The bed is bigger than I thought, at least,” Eddie says, closing the door behind them. The room is a part of the museum, everything meticulously maintained, with pictures on the dark wooden furniture. The bed frame is thick and well crafted, huge headboard nearly reaching the ceiling. </p><p>Eddie starts to pull back the bedding, to check for bugs. Mike raises his eyebrows up his forehead, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sets his bag gingerly on the dresser and Eddie can see him watching him in the attached mirror. His eyes are dark. </p><p>When Eddie feels comfortable with the creases and the sheets, he remakes the bed and sits down on it to take off his shoes. The mattress dip on the other side of the bed. Eddie feels Mike’s back on his and smiles. It’s something they did when they were young and sharing space together, back pressed to back, holding each other up. He thinks, anyway. A lot of their time together, the general space in his memory where his childhood should be, is still fuzzy and unclear.</p><p>“What were you doing, just now?” Mike asks, and Eddie can feel the rumble of him through his own body, the vibration of him setting in his chest. </p><p>Eddie hums and says, “Checking for bedbugs.” He decides not to bring up the scabies thing because he thinks it makes him sound crazy. Bedbugs are a normal thing to be worried about. On top of being disgusting, bloodsucking monsters, they are also filthy and carry diseases. He keeps pictures on his phone for reference. </p><p>Mike hums back, warm and solid behind him. Eddie feels his eyes slip closed. </p><p>“Weird that they thought we were together, right?” Eddie asks, but it’s not really a question. His breathing adjusts itself to Mike’s. They are breathing together. God, Eddie really missed him. He missed them all so, so much. He wonders when he’ll get to see them, the Losers, all again. He misses Stan. They haven’t talked about it, but Eddie knows they’ll visit his grave in Atlanta. He flexes his fingers in the sheets. </p><p>“I give off a gay vibe, I think,” Mike says, and Eddie can feel him shrug. “I hope so, anyway.” </p><p>Eddie presses back harder into Mike’s shoulders with his own and mumbles, “Ah, same. Too, me too.” </p><p>It feels weird to say it, like the relief of licking at his chapped lips before the burn returns. He’s quiet after, and Mike makes an impatient noise in his throat. He must tip his head back, because it hits the back of Eddie’s and he feels supported and warm all over. </p><p>“You know,” Mike says, crashing their heads together again, harder this time. Eddie curses, but presses back. “Lizzie Borden was probably a lesbian.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie says, because he did know that. He looks around the room, at the pictures on the walls and remembers the portrait downstairs. There isn’t a rhyme about that, just the murder. He doesn’t think he’d want to know what a rhyme about that would sound like. </p><p>“So was Kitty Genovese,” Mike adds. Eddie didn’t know that. </p><p>Instead of admitting it he says, “Maybe we should get ready for the tour.” </p><p>Mike laughs, and Eddie knows that Mike knows why he’s changed the subject. Eddie finds himself grinning at the sound of it. Grinning at how well they still know each other, at how much more of Mike he gets to know now. </p><p>In addition to the sweet friendship feelings fluttering around in his stomach, his whole body is on fire. He did miss letting himself be attracted to men, but it is a little inconvenient to be aware of it while he’s feeling it. Mike is his buddy, his pal, his friend, and not someone who should make his blood sing in his veins. He loves the feeling anyway. It’s been so long since he’s felt like this. </p><p>When he pulls away from Mike, the other man falls backward onto the bed, body angled so his head lands next to Eddie’s hip. His reading glasses fall forward and into his throat. He doesn’t move them back to his chest. Eddie looks at him while reaching for his shoes. He’s smiling and staring up at Eddie, eyes dancing. Eddie rolls his, but he’s still smiling. </p><p>They take the tour, ooh and aww at skulls in glass cabinets, take pictures with a prop ax resting against the couch along the wall where Andrew Borden died, and buy kitschy nonsense in the gift shop from the woman who checked them in. There’s dinner from a restaurant downtown and an evening watching videos on Eddie’s phone while propped up in the fancy, ornate bed they’re going to share together. </p><p>Eddie tries not to think about their thighs touching, their hips and occasionally their ankles. He feels faint, on the verge of fainting, and aggressively over-corrects, gesturing with his hands and shouting louder than he means to, laughing louder at Mike’s jokes. He likes to think he wouldn’t be acting like this if they weren’t touching, but he honestly doesn’t know. It’s like he realized Mike is hot and a flip switched in his brain and he can’t stop acting like a boy with a crush. </p><p>There’s something about Mike that sticks to Eddie’s ribs, he thinks maybe there always has been. He looks at Mike and remembers being 12 and meeting him in the high ceilinged, air conditioned entryway of the Baptist church Eddie’s mom sent him to for vacation bible school the summer before the clown. They were in the same group, Mike a few months older but still born the same year. He was quiet, but not shy, and Eddie, who always felt like he’d just drunk four cans of warm Coke, felt quieter in his presence. </p><p>Eddie wonders if he remembers that, if Mike remembers when he picked him up and put him in his bike’s basket that summer, if he remembers holding his hand after the rock war. His memories of the summers (and falls and winters and springs) after are still coming in, but he can see the vague outline of crawling up Mike’s back for a piggyback at 15. He sees days on the farm and Mike wearing a Derry High School track and field windbreaker.</p><p>He is a boy with a crush. He is also a 39 year old man who hasn’t had anything resembling good sex since he was 20 and exchanged handjobs with a another boy at the only party he went to in college. Mike smells like clean clothes. </p><p>They get ready for bed with their backs turned. Eddie wants to sleep on the right side of the mattress so he can sleep facing away from Mike, on his left side, which is better for his heart health. He explains this to Mike, who chuckles and crawls into bed on the left side. </p><p>With the lights off, Eddie turns his back to Mike and closes his eyes. </p><p>*</p><p>Eddie wriggles around on his back, borrowing like a clam into the sheets. He stares up at the ceiling, most of the beams are shrouded in shadows, but there’s a bright spot from the window, curtains open to let in the moonlight. Eddie tilts his head to the side, looking at Mike through hooded eyes. </p><p>He takes up most of the bed, Mike does, spreading out and filing all of the corners of the mattress with his long limbs. The moon highlights along his cheek and brightens the curve of his ear. His eyelids flutter, but Eddie doesn’t think he’s asleep. </p><p>“Why were you wearing a varsity jacket, Mikey?” Eddie asks, because he can't stop thinking about it, making his voice as soft as it’ll go. He raises his hand, but tucks it quickly into the hollow of his throat when Mike’s eyes pop open. </p><p>He’s curled on his side and Eddie’s on his back. His hands are shielding his chest and neck from whatever Mike says next. He shifts his body until they’re facing each other in bed, Eddie toes curled up by his ass. </p><p>“Which time?” Mike’s voice is genuinely soft and Eddie can feel it crawling up his spine and burst over his face like a blast of warm air coming through a car vent. “I wore your jacket a lot.” </p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Eddie is afraid to blink. He’s overwhelmed by the depth of Mike’s eyes, how soft and brown they are. He doesn’t look away though. He’s braver now, he thinks. He might be. </p><p>“If I got cold, you would offer me your jacket,” Mike whispers. “You wouldn’t let me wear anyone else’s.” </p><p>“I wonder why I did that,” Eddie volleys back. He has an idea. Looking at Mike, he feels like he has a pretty good grasp on what he was thinking at 15, at 16. He won’t pretend he isn’t thinking about it now. He’s been thinking about it all day.</p><p>“The sleeves were so short, my wrists always stuck out.” Mike is smiling, teeth flashing in the moonlight. He’s looking at Eddie like he’s sweet. He isn’t sure he’s ever felt like that before, like he’s made of spun sugar instead of  vinegar. Mike chuckles and it sounds like Pop Rocks. </p><p>“You left it at my house,” he says around his laughter. His face settles into a warm grin that makes Eddie’s fingers flex against his throat. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike confirms. “When you moved away, you left it at the farm.”</p><p>“Where is it now?” Eddie wonders, blinking. He feels his eyelashes against his cheeks. </p><p>When he opens his eyes, Mike is still watching him, skin around his eyes crinkled and happy. He says, voice still soft in the space between them, “I put it in storage, with everything else.” That he wanted to keep. Eddie and Bill and Bev, they helped him move his boxes from his attic apartment to the storage facility out in Hermon, the one with the good rates. Richie paid for a year, left his contact information to renew in another year, if Mike hasn’t gone back to get it before then. He flushed, when Richie slid his credit card across the plastic counter top, but didn’t stop him from paying for it. He and Bill had a talk, Eddie thinks, about Mike taking one of his cards for his road trip. Bill is a multibillionaire, and Mike made only a tiny fraction of that as the library director in Derry. </p><p>“I liked wearing it,” Mike says like it’s a secret he’s letting Eddie in on. Something just between them. Eddie fingers clench involuntarily, knuckles brushing his throat. </p><p>“I liked you wearing it,” Eddie admits. He unfurls his fingers and reaches out with one hand to touch Mike’s face, eyes on him. He’s watching carefully, watching for any sign that his touch isn’t wanted, that his advances would be rejected. Mike is still smiling, encouraging Eddie to reach out, to slide his skin against the line of Mike’s jaw, which he does. Under his fingers, Mike’s skin is prickly with stubble, but otherwise soft. </p><p>Inhaling harshly, Eddie moves his hand from Mike’s jaw to the back of his neck and pulls him closer. Mike is already moving in though, on his own, and they meet in the middle, faster than Eddie expects. Their noses smash together. </p><p>“Fuck!” Eddie curses, pulling his head away and rubbing at his nose. Mike, messaging his own nose, apologizes. </p><p>Eddie rolls his eyes and waves away Mike’s, “Sorry,” impatiently. He crowds into Mike’s space and kisses him, their lips pressed together firmly. Eddie feels like he’s in an old movie, their kiss dry but hard. Mike opens his mouth and presses a thumb against the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, asking him to do the same. Eddie has always been a quick study; he parts his lips and Mike slides his tongue in his mouth. </p><p>A groan rips itself from Eddie’s throat, gets stuck behind his molars. Eddie pushes it into Mike’s mouth with his tongue. He shivers, shoulders shaking, and curls his toes when he feels Mike exhale through his nose. Eddie licks into Mike’s mouth, no shame. The sweet, slick sound of their lips sliding together fills his head with sticky jam. He can't ever remember kissing feeling like this, like it’s the main event. </p><p>Mike bites Eddie’s bottom lip, then kisses the stinging skin softly. He brushes wet, open mouth kisses to Eddie’s chin, his jaw, down his neck. He bites the skin under Eddie’s Adam’s apple and Eddie shifts and stretches his neck out, arching his body, opening himself to Mike. </p><p>“Eddie,” Mike says against the wet skin of his throat. He clutches at Eddie’s arm with a wide, strong hand. He leans up, looking Eddie in the eyes, and he can feel Mike’s hot breath in his face. He wants to steal it out of his mouth, push their bodies so close together they are breathing the same air. Tension travels up his legs from his toes and collects in his groin. He nudges his body forward, his hips pushing his cock against his pajama shorts. </p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie pants, rocking his hips again even though he thinks he might be breaking some unspoken social rule. He doesn’t care though, it feels nice. He blinks at Mike, looks at him through heavy eyes. Mike looks back, flushed. </p><p>“Are you--” Mike interrupts himself, shakes his head, and tries again. “Are you going to regret this? In the morning?” </p><p>He looks sad, which isn’t what Eddie wants at all. He wants Mike to look fucked out. He wants Mike smiling and laughing. He wants Mike to be happy. He wants to make Mike happy. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and kisses Mike’s cheek. He leans up and kisses his other cheek too. Eddie cups Mike’s face in his smaller hands and says, “No.”</p><p>He says, “I won’t.” </p><p>Mike nods. He slots his fingers between Eddie’s on his face and grins. It’s soft at first, then filthy. He squeezes Eddie’s fingers, pulling them off his face. Mike uses his long fingers to grasp at Eddie’s wrists and push them down into the bed. They shift until Eddie is flat on his back and Mike is leaning over him, his chest hovering over Eddie’s. His grip isn’t hard, it isn’t bruising. Eddie could pull himself out if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to at all. He humps at the air, cock rubbing his pajama pants again, and if it felt nice before, it isn’t enough now. He wants more. </p><p>“Harder,” he tells Mike, wiggling his wrists locked in his fists. Mike looks at him, eyebrow raised and tightens his hold on Eddie until his eyes flutter shut, head digging into the mattress, throat bared. </p><p>“You know,” Mike says, almost casual. He kisses the base of Eddie’s throat and pants, sending jolts of arousal through Eddie’s whole body, from his split ends to his toes. “They say this place is haunted. Are you scared?” </p><p>“Are you?” Eddie shoots back. He isn’t scared. He’s brave now. He’s brave and he isn’t scared of some two-bit ghosts. </p><p>“Don’t make me talk about Pennywise, dude. I didn’t think anything could kill my boner, but that will absolutely kill it. We fought a sewer demon, the ghost of some rich sexual predator doesn’t scare me!” Eddie continues, rambling. He tilts his hips, angling them in the general direction of Mike’s, looking for traction, for friction. Anything. Mike giggles and tugs on Eddie’s arms until both of his wrists are held in one hand, grip tighter than before. </p><p>“Yeah, you’re too strong for that, huh?” Mike says while Eddie moans. It starts deep in his chest and rushes out of his throat. Mike kisses it away, licking into Eddie’s mouth and dragging their tongues together. His other hand is pressed into Eddie’s jaw, holding him in place. </p><p>“I like that,” Eddie tells him, flexing his wrists. “But if you don’t touch my dick soon, I might kill you, Mikey. I will.” Mike laughs out right, clear as a bell. Eddie likes how much he laughs in bed. Eddie likes him. </p><p>Mike doesn’t move his hand off Eddie’s face. Instead, he climbs on top of him, knees on either side of Eddie’s bucking hips. He grinds down, and Eddie feels it in his guts, in his chest, radiating through his whole body. He keens, high in his throat. He feels Mike’s cock through their shorts and bites his lip through another whine. He’s big and hard and if Eddie doesn’t get to touch it soon he might scream. </p><p>“Fuck,” Mike breathes. “Fuck, Eddie. Eddie, open your mouth.” </p><p>“Wh-” Eddie starts, but changes his mind and just opens it. His mouth is open, as wide and as far as he can make it, with his tongue sticking out for good measure. It’s dark still, but not so dark he can’t see Mike purse his lips. He hooks the index finger of the hand on his jaw into Eddie's mouth and rubs the side of his tongue. Leaning over, Mike presses his weight into his wrists. It hurts, but in a good way, the best way. </p><p>Just as Eddie is about to demand an explanation after all, Mike spits long and slow into Eddie’s open mouth, drool dripping onto his tongue. It’s warm and different, tastes like Mike’s spit did when they were kissing and fuck. Fuck. His brain lights up like the Fourth of July, like a bolt of lightning. Fuck. </p><p>Eddie surges forward, hindered for a second but Mike’s grip on his wrists. Mike lets go and Eddie sits up, cupping Mike’s face in his hands. Mike is straddling his lap, strong legs on either side of Eddie’s body. He’s sitting so much taller than Eddie this way. Eddie brings one of his hands down to tug on the collar of his tshirt, and pulls him down to his level. He still has Mike’s spit in his mouth, pooled on his tongue. He collects his own, pressing his thumbs on either side of Mike’s mouth. He spits it back, spits Mike's saliva back into his own mouth. They both groan and kiss, sloppily, spit coating their lips, their chins. </p><p>Panting, eyes so heavy they might as well be closed, Eddie pulls back. He brushes away a string of saliva connecting their mouths and pushes two fingers past Mike’s parted lips. </p><p>“Mike, Jesus Chirst, look at you,” Eddie says, not recognizing the sound of his own voice in his ears. “I want to put my mouth on you. Can I put my mouth on you?” he asks, sliding his fingers deeper into Mike’s mouth, relishing the hot, wet feeling. </p><p>Mike draws Eddie’s hand away and pants, “Yes, baby. Yeah, yeah.” He falls sideways off of Eddie’s lap, and he misses him already. He misses the solidness of him. </p><p>Patting Eddie’s knee, Mike tells him, “Sit back against the headboard.” Eddie scrambles to comply, crashing his back into it and sliding down to the bed, heedless of the wood design digging into his back. Mike sits up on his knees, then stands, wobbling on the soft mattress. He walks over to Eddie and plants his feet on either side of his body. He leans forward, one hand anchoring him to the headboard. His other hand makes its way to the top of Eddie’s head, rounding down to cup and the back of his neck. </p><p>Eddie can’t actually reach Mike’s cock from this angle, and hastily repositions himself so that his legs are under his body. He presses up on his knees and then sits back on his calves. He likes the way Mike is standing over him, likes that he’s completely bracketed in and can’t move unless Mike does first. He is overwhelmed by the closeness of him, the way he smells, like laundry and sweat and salt. It enters his mind that he is technically still married, but once he presses his face into the front of Mike’s sleep shorts, he forgets again entirely. He mouths at the cotton and is surprised to find it already soaking wet. </p><p>“Your cock is a fucking faucet over here, Mikey, what the fuck,” Eddie babels between licking Mike’s cock through his shorts and trailing his fingers over it’s full length. He’s not going to be able to fit the whole thing in his mouth, no way. There’s no way. </p><p>Plenty of time to practice though, on the road. </p><p>He mentions as much to Mike, who threads his fingers into the hairs at the back of Eddie’s neck and asks, uncertainly, “You want to do this again?” </p><p>“Um,” Eddie uses both hands to pull down Mike’s short far enough to take his cock out. “Yeah, of course. I-- like you, and we’re friends and-- Mikey I’m going to put this in my mouth because if I have to wait one more minute, I’m going to kill you in this room.” </p><p>“Someone already died in this room,” Mike points out, breathing heavily into his arm. “That’s why we’re here.” Eddie spits into his hand and uses it to stroke Mike’s cock, exploratory. </p><p>“Oh, talk dirty to me,” Eddie jokes, and then wraps his lips around the head, precome coating his tongue. </p><p>“Okay,” Mike says, and Eddie can hear the headboard groan under the pressure of Mike’s grip, but the hand on the back of Eddie’s head remains loose and unassuming. </p><p>Eddie can appreciate a well mannered man. </p><p>“Your mouth, Eddie, fuck,” Mike whines. Eddie didn’t even know Mike could do that, but he can. It’s searingly hot that such a big man can make such a soft noise, and he presses the heel of his free hand into the front of his shorts. Mike says, “I can’t believe we’re doing this <i>here</i>. Fuck, Eddie. Fuck, someone died in this room, you couldn’t have sucked my cock at the Holiday Inn last night, if you’re so eager for it?” </p><p>Instead of answering, Eddie takes more of Mike in his mouth, as much as he can stand, and twists his wrist over the rest. He slips his free hand into his shorts and strokes himself, as close to in tandem as he can manage under the circumstances. His wrists both ache and it feels delicious. He moans and it’s muffled by Mike’s cock. </p><p>“The disrespect,” Mike says, almost to himself. </p><p>Eddie pops off his dick, taking the opportunity to stroke from the bases to the tip, running his thumb over the slit, while he says, “You love it, don’t lie. You love this. You love where we are right now.” </p><p>"You're a little bit of a slut, huh?" Mike asks, tugging lightly on the sweaty hairs at the nape of Eddie's neck. Eddie looks up at him and quirks an eyebrow. He is, and he lets himself be as into that as anything else he's embraced in the week and a half. God, Mike has a point. It's only been a week and half, only two days into their road trip. He maintains eye contact with Mike through the murky darkness of their room and licks his lips. He runs his fingers through Mike's pubic hair, pulling on it. He wants to stick his face in it. Unfortunately, his face is busy teasing Mike.</p><p>"And you're an asshole," Eddie tells him, and Mike nods like he agrees. He's smiling again, but it disappears behind a pinched moan when Eddie yanks harder on the hair at the base of his cock. </p><p>“I’m going to come,” Mike tells him, warns him, but the way he says it, it sounds like they’re in a boardroom or in line at the bank. So straight forward. It catches Eddie by surprise and he isn’t prepared for Mike to fall fully forward and grab Eddie’s face with both hands. He stops stroking, and manages to wrap his lips around the head before Mike is spilling into his mouth, holding his head in place. </p><p>There’s nowhere for Eddie to spit, but he has an idea. He doesn’t wait for Mike to recover, he pushes at his waist and, when he has his attention, he points to the bed in front of him. Mike gingerly steps down off the mattress, then sits back down in the mess of their blankets and sheets. His legs shake and his stomach muscles convulse under his sleep shirt, chest heaving. He looks so good, Eddie has to cut his eyes away or he's going to lose his mind.</p><p>Eddie kicks his legs out from under him and sits against the headboard, again. He pulls off his shorts, pushing them under his body so he isn’t sitting bare ass on the sheets at the Lizzie Borden House. Mike watches him with curious eyes that burn hot when Eddie spits Mike’s come into his hand, long strands falling from his lips. They snap and dangle off his chin. </p><p>With one hand holding the base of his cock, Eddie carefully tips his hand over the head. He watches Mike watch his come drip all over Eddie’s cock. He looks lost, he looks bewildered, he’s deeply flushed by the light of the moon, and Eddie’s glad that it's bright enough that he can see this, see the weird shit Eddie is doing. </p><p>He jacks his cock, slick with Mike’s come, and is thrown off kilter when Mike serges forward, kissing him with his tongue in his mouth. He sits between Eddie’s legs, forcing them to go wider. His hips burn, and Mike helps him stroke himself, his hand working the head and Eddie’s running up and down the shaft. </p><p>“Come on, baby,” Mike chants, over and over. “Come on, baby, come on,” until Eddie does, all over their hands, both of them, with a low, harsh moan that erupts out of him sounding not unlike a fog horn. </p><p>Mike doesn’t let Eddie recover either; he brings his hand up to his mouth and licks it clean, pink tongue swirling around his fingers, over his palm. Eddie watches, enraptured, his own dirty, sticky hand resting on his shorts between his legs. He’s going to take care of it, he just wants to watch Mike first, wants to see him. To his surprised and shocked delight, Mike grabs up his hand and licks that clean too. </p><p>What the fuck. </p><p>“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. His voice is raspier than usual, and he thinks he likes how it sounds. “You are so hot, Mike.”</p><p>“You’re so hot,” Mike counters, pulling on Eddie’s legs so he slides down the bed and is no longer up against the headboard. It’s fun, he thinks, being manhandled a little. A lot. Eddie grabs his shorts, now under his back, and slides them back on. He pulls Mike’s back up too, snapping the waistband hard just to hear him laugh. </p><p>After, Mike curls around him like a bread tie and brings Eddie’s arms up and around his body to match. </p><p>“So, we aren’t cleaning up?” Eddie asks, eyes halfway closed. He yawns. </p><p>“Morning,” Mike promises through his own yawn. </p><p>“You’re one weird dude, Mike Hanlon. Gross.” </p><p>Mike laughs and presses a sticky kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “So are you, Eddie Kaspbrak. Really, really gross.” </p><p>In the dark, Eddie starts to drift off. Sealed to his body, he feels Mike’s breathing slow as well. He brushes his fingers over the skin of Mike’s neck. He says, as softly as he’s able, “Thanks for inviting me on your trip, Mikey.” </p><p>“It’s your trip too,” Mike mumbles into his shoulder. “Now go to sleep.” </p><p>*</p><p>The next morning, the sun shines through the double-paned windows in the Morse Room and Eddie smiles. He smiles into Mike’s chest, and he lets himself enjoy it.</p>
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